


In Dreams

by Moiranna



Series: 50 themes - Vergil & Dante [7]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Did I Mention Angst?, M/M, More angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 12:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiranna/pseuds/Moiranna
Summary: The clock is nearing twelve when the only time true happiness is evident in Dante's life.





	In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: #8 - Happiness
> 
> To my Vergil.

__ But in dreams  
__ I can hear your name  
_ And in dreams  
_ __ We will meet again

  
_ “In dreams” - LOTR: the Fellowship of the Ring _

  
  


Many years ago Dante had been good at telling the time, even without a watch just instinctively knowing whether it was closer to say five in the morning than four-thirty. As it was now all Dante could determine was that it was  _ late _ . The heavy old grandfather clock a client had gifted him some years ago ticking steadily somewhere down in the office, and had it been any closer Dante might have gotten up from where he was reclining on his bed, still dressed even though he’d kicked off his boots, arms behind his head as he stared up at the cracked ceiling, to put a bullet in the damned thing so that it would stop the incessant noise - just put it out of its misery. As it was his motivation to move just wasn’t there, so he stared unblinkingly, tracing the lines where the paint had started to crack with his eyes. The bedroom window was open, letting in a faint breeze and the sounds of the outside though whether or not the red clad hunter was actually aware of them was hard to tell.

Eventually there was the whisperquiet sounds of someone approaching, but even without lifting his head Dante could tell just who it was, the cadence of those steps unmistakeable for one who had heard them so many times. The dip of the bed next to him reassuring and the younger son of Sparda shifted lower down and wordlessly rearranged himself, an old familiar dance as his sibling settled down and reached for a book to read, the Art of War if the brief glance at the jacket was anything to go by, long legs crossed by the ankle and back resting against the headboard. Dante’s eyes drifted shut, swallowing down the lump in his throat and just focusing on the here and now.

For an undisclosed amount of time the twins just were, Dante dozing on Vergil's lap while the elder read, half-gloved fingers idly carding through white strands similar to when petting your favourite animal. The smell of leather and old parchment heavy in the air, the younger half-breed turning his head slightly, rubbing a stubbled cheek against patterned trousers not very unlike a large feline scent-marking.

All that disturbed the silence was the occasional turn of a page or the flutter of wings from birds passing by outside the window. If this moment could last forever it still would be a too brief period of time.

“They're waiting for you,” Vergil murmured eventually, wetting his thumb before turning yet another page. At once the peaceful atmosphere between them changed, an undercurrent of something ominous, an almost palpable and crushing sense passing between them.

“All of them?” Voice almost hesitant albeit with an undertone of eagerness, as if he couldn't quite dare to believe the words.

“Did I stutter?” Came the deadpan response, and though the younger twin could tell that his sibling wasn't truly upset with him he still winced as the gentle cording turned into a tight pull, one or two strands tearing from the roots.

“Oww oww oww, no you didn't, I just---”

With a huff the elder released his hold, and though Vergil continued to read Dante could tell that the elder’s attention was on him instead of the faintly yellowing pages.

“I don’t know if I can face them,” he eventually muttered, looking at anything but the man on whose lap his head rested.

“They’re not going anywhere.”  _ Neither am I _ . Unvoiced, unnecessary.

Silence fell again, and though stillness reigned serenity was a distant dream.

 

\----

 

“Dante… This is not the real world.”

Tone lacking the usual ichor the younger son of Sparda was used to his brother applying when it came to addressing him. Instead his voice was rather quiet, observant in a sense. Dare he say it? Was that an undercurrent of  _ pleading _ ? No. It couldn’t be.

“I know. Just let me pretend for a few more minutes.”

There was no mistaking the melancholy note in the younger’s voice, and something akin to pity flitted by in mercurial eyes before his gaze shifted back to the book, a brief nod. 

  
  


\---

 

At last a sigh, a breath gathered and held for several moments. 

“I'm ready.”

 

\---

 

Surroundings shifting to that of a dark forest near a steep mountain-slope. Light shining in through the trees though it was undeniably scarce. Time seeming to pass at an indefinable rate, either going far too fast or at a snail’s pace. Fir and pine gradually shifting to oak, cedar and beech trees, the maybe maybe not sound of two children playing and laughing, from the corner of his eyes seeing something flickering by though each time Dante turned his head he saw nothing.

Eventually they came across a small house in the deepest parts of the woods, and the wrongness and  _ rightness _ of it made Dante’s breath catch in his chest. He wanted to point out that this hadn’t at all been in the woods but just a few minutes walk from the city and that the only trees there had been cherry trees which the twins as children used to climb for the sweet fruits.

Still his heart  _ ached  _ with the familiarity. He was home. Ever so he hesitated at the threshold, the horseshoe over the door an old symbol against evil which never used to stop him but now gave him pause as it took him a second before being allowed to cross, more baffled that Vergil could enter without even blinking.

In the kitchen the one person Dante had longed for almost as much as he had missed his brother in those early years sat bent over a crossword-puzzle, blonde hair carelessly swept back over a shoulder while chewing on her lower lip as she filled it out. Only barely glancing up at Vergil before resuming her task.

“Mom.” Dante didn’t recognise his own voice or the hoarseness in it, in his own way overwhelmed by the emotions crashing over him. He’d dreamed of this moment since he had been seven years old and now… if this was a dream he didn’t want to wake up. The hand reaching out towards him not the one he remembered from their last encounter where she’d begged him to stay away, to stay hidden but reaching  _ for _ him.

Not even realising that his feet moved or that he sat down in a chair suddenly next to her, so shocked that the world was fading around them. Eyes taking in everything about her, the blue of her eyes maybe three shades darker than his own, the slightly callused but so soft hand in his, how she smelled of lemon verbena and vanilla. He was also startled by the intelligence he could see in her eyes, even though logically he should have realised that she was that. “I never expected you to be one with facial hair. I didn’t even realise devilkind could grow one. It makes you look like a vagabond.” Out of all things she could have said this he expected the least, and he gave a startled little sound. “ _ Mom.”  _ To which she just grinned, and Dante knew that grin in how he smiled himself.

Conversation after that floated on in a more relaxed fashion, discussing life and the goings on, somehow managing to tune out Vergil’s presence while the elder contented himself with leaning against the back of the wall and observing them until Dante found himself pausing on a question.

“Do you ever regret what happened that night?”

“Of course I do,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and in hindsight Dante realised the ludicrousy in his question.

“However. No parent should ever have to bury their child. While I never wanted to leave either of you I would have done it a hundred times over if it meant that you were safe.” The vehemence in her voice startling - unexpected.

Silence reigned in the room for a few seconds after that, broken only by a steady drip-drip-drip from a leaking tap in the sink. Either Eva didn’t seem to notice or care about the sound because even when Dante some time later remarked about it she shrugged her shoulders in a painfully familiar no-nonsense manner which the hunter knew ‘it doesn’t matter.’ In truth, he came to realise as time passed by, the woman sitting next to him daintily sipping her tea was remarkably different from the one he remembered with such fondness from his childhood. Or well, to be quite honest she was still there but as an adult he supposed that he saw sides that he never had as a child. 

Eventually however she tilted her head to the side as if hearing something he couldn’t and for a second he thought that he might have heard the sound of a clock tolling before it was gone, figuring it had been his imagination before she gave his forehead a chaste kiss. “It is time to go. Be brave.”

Before he really had time to realise what had happened Vergil lead him out from the house, and if Dante smelled wood burning or felt the heat of a roaring fire behind him that sent the hackles rising so hauntingly familiar from  _ that day _ as they left he knew better than to look back.

 

\----

 

The smell of gunpowder lay heavy over the neighbourhood even though a quick look around only revealed dainty little houses with white picket-fences. The sound of children laughing and playing evident in one of the backyards, and Dante tried to ignore the implications of what this meant. As they proceeded he could see a trio of teenagers practising with guns, firing at something in bursts of three. The sound deafening before growing quiet, then another burst of three rounds, then back to being quiet. What exactly they were aiming at though was hidden behind a large shrubbery, but the underlying smell of death and decay and the squelching schlop-schlop-schlop gave him a fair idea. 

Though he had spent enough time around her place it still was startling to find the small red-brick house with the sign of a surname he’d mentally questioned so many times but never dared ask about. It had become one of those topics they never discussed;  _ why  _ she never had changed the surname of the man who had caused her such pain.

That the elder twin, half a step behind Dante, chose to keep from commenting about their revenue even though Dante could tell that there was no particular surprise about where they were or any lack of familiarity with the creaking gate or that he avoided the fourth wooden step which last time Dante had been here showed signs of being seconds from snapping completely. This despite though that logically speaking Vergil never had been here. Then again; as the expression went - this was clearly Dante’s show.

“You had to show up, didn’t you?” Came the all too familiar voice from the mercenary he’d known for far too long. Arms crossed under her chest, leaning her side against the doorway. 

A shrug, unable to keep himself from the wry almost boyish grin at that, falling into the role he had played with her all this time without even reflecting about it. “C’mon, can’t you at least pretend to be nice around me?”

A snort. “Fat chance, devil boy.” Mismatched eyes glinted with amusement, though grew softer as she scanned over the hunter, correctly reading the emotions in winter-blue eyes. A hand was held up in the air before Dante could say anything more. “Don’t give me those sad puppy-dog eyes, Dante. I’ll put a bullet through your skull again if you do,” she warned him. In the background Vergil gave an amused snort. Dante placed a hand over his heart as if physically wounded.

“Lady, you break my heart. Besides you know it wouldn’t do anything but annoy me.”

“Well, the headache might actually make you shut up for two seconds.”

“Nah, head’s too thick for that.”

A derisive snort from the dark-haired woman. “If that isn’t the honest truth then I don’t know what.” Hand coming to rest on her hip as she gazed at him, shaking her head lightly.

The hunter laughed. “I’ll give you that one.”

Something in the world seemed to shift, a faint tremble in the earth as if it drew a breath before unleashing hell, and Lady looked up sharply at the twins, then back towards the neighbourhood where the staccato of gunshots grew more and more frequent.

“You need to go.” No anger, just determination and perhaps just a little bit of trepidation. The duo did as requested.

There was no denying the three sharp explosions following right after one another but Vergil had a firm grip on Dante’s arm and lead him onwards and the world shifted yet again.

 

\---

 

Setting foot in Fortuna Dante gave an outright pained look at his twin who responded only by giving him that cool disinterested one. The very one Dante knew meant ‘you knew this would happen.’ And he did. After a deep breath Dante nodded and proceeded along cobbled stones, ignoring common people in the garb of the Order as they eventually reached their destination. If there was anything that the city exuded it was peace. Sun shining, people laughing and minding their own business as if nothing ever had happened or as if the statue of Sparda wasn’t toppled over.

Nero never looked up from where he was working on fine-tuning Red Queen though he by all means must have heard them despite the radio blasting music, making the hunter question what kids these days listened to… and two seconds later questioning why he thought that because he wasn’t  _ that  _ old. A screwdriver in his mouth he twirled another smaller one in his hand, concentration evident. 

“Gna dsyto mm sty gn?” Nero muttered, only half understandable as the younger man had forgotten to remove the tool. At Dante’s cocked head he removed it. “I said, are you gonna destroy my city again?”

Dante made a grand gesture as if severely wounded. “Here I come to visit you and your first thought is to accuse me of violence. Thanks, kid.”

There was a faint flush to Nero’s cheeks as if realising what he’d just said but the teenager just scratched at his nose before glaring at Dante. “Well, are you?”

“Haven’t decided yet. Dunno if there’s anything here that’s stirring enough of a fuss to warrant any destruction.” At that Nero grew silent, putting down the screwdrivers. Nails tapping quietly against the weapon on his lap, three taps before pausing, then another three, then a longer pause. Another three tap-tap-taps. Dante didn’t mind the silence.

“I never got to say thanks,” Nero muttered after some time. And that more than anything flustered Dante who on one end was touched on a level that he didn’t normally reach and on another made him want to wave it away with a joke.

“Nero…” On the inside of his retina he saw all too clearly what had happened, limbs torn asunder before that final  _ shnikt  _ which had ended the way things were. But that was there and then and this was the now.  _ Tap-tap-tap _ . “I’m sorry.”

A lopsided smile that was more of a grimace. “Yeah, me too.”

The world didn’t shake. It shivered, as if settling down and it wasn’t so much that they wanted to leave as that he didn’t belong here and wasn’t wanted, the city too blinding as Vergil lead him back towards darkness.

 

\---

 

His brother’s eyes were old, belying the relatively young appearance of a man in his mid-twenties and though Dante  _ knew _ that his brother would never physically age to match the fifteen years that had passed since his death a part of Dante had never truly wanted to acknowledge it. Still in this moment it was hard to deny as the two came to a standstill, the foreboding feeling of that things were about to end all too evident between them. 

For all his bravado and multitude of comebacks the red-clad hunter found that words failed him, something which had his elder brother chuckling quietly. 

“Never thought the day would come when you would be rendered speechless. Is this all for me?” Tone teasing, taking off some of the edge and there was a wry grin on the hunter’s face.

“There’s a first for everything. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I think you’ll find that  _ you’re _ the one with the bloated ego, dear brother.”

A snort. “Bullshit.  _ Megalomaniac. _ ”

“Did you have to look that word up in a dictionary?”

“You underestimate me.”

A quirked brow. “I do no such thing.”  _ Offended. _

Breath catching just at what lay behind those words and then it was back to them just staring at one another.

“You know, a part of me wants to stay. I’m so tired.” Voice quiet, almost hushed, speaking words he never would have dared utter in any other time, the knowledge of scorn too prevalent.

“I know.” The silence from the elder twin was different from before, as if he was hesitating over whether or not to speak. Eventually something shifted behind his eyes, and Dante was surprised to see something resembling sadness flickering by. “It is possible for you to stay.”

At that grey-blue eyes widened and without really reflecting over it he turned towards his elder twin, leaning in for a kiss. The hand against his chest stopping him, and for the faintest of seconds Dante read longing in Vergil’s eyes before he was shoved away and suddenly Dante jolted awake from where he had been lying on the concrete outside the Devil May Cry, covered in slowly congealing blood. From where he lay oh so still he could see the open bedroom window, the many cracks in the ceiling. Absentmindedly aware of that it needed to be repainted at some point.

His heartbeat loud in his ears, all too aware of the irregularity of it - that this wasn’t how it was supposed to beat. A hand moving sluggishly before coming to rest over his heart, aware of that he could actually feel the throbbing of the muscle as the wound hadn’t properly closed. Three halting throbs, then stillness, then another three, then it was as if his heart needed a break before it could move yet again. Swallowing heavily, knowing all too well what this meant. 

A slow blink, realisation coming to him as consciousness slowly started to filter back in.

It was finally  _ over _ . Every last hellgate firmly sealed, Mundus truly  _ gone _ . But as Dante shifted to stare up into the slate-grey sky, images of all those he had seen and knowing in his heart of hearts that they were forever gone flashing by on the inside of his retina he couldn’t help but wonder - had it all been worth it?

Eyes flitting closed, a long exhale ending in a wet cough. Maybe. Maybe not. But this was the path that they all had chosen and for better or worse he was all too aware of that dreams would be the only place he could ever see them again. Or well, as sappy as it sounded the ones you loved never truly left as long as they were in his heart - and while happiness would only be a memory he could still cherish it. In dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’VE JUST READ DANTE’S INFERNO? 
> 
> Timeline would be just before DMC2. I wanted to play with why Dante behaves the way he does in DMC2 so this would be essentially what has happened up until that point.
> 
> I don’t like to use sounds to signify changes I swear.


End file.
